TASSAClementinahad enticed me to her cottage with the promise of country beans cooked in country fashion, to be followed by a story under the chestnut woods. So at about four in the afternoon, when the heat of the day was over in the breezy mountain village, I sauntered through the street, past the swarming black-eyed children, and the cheerful, smiling washerwomen busy at the tank under the pump, out on the white road beyond; and, gazing now at the landscape on the left, now at the ever-varying forms of the Apennines before me—“Ever some new head or breast of them,Thrusts into view,”says Browning—now climbing the bank on the right for flowers or mountain-strawberries, I arrived, after half an hour’s stroll, at the little hamlet of Ciecafumo.There stood the cluster of smoke-blackened cottages, with the large patch of rye, beans, etc. (apparently common property), before them, against a background of magnificentchestnut trees. Passing under a picturesque archway, and crossing a cobbled space which did duty as a street, I pushed open the wooden door of Clementina’s house. Before me was a flight of stairs which might have been washed towards the end of the last century: on the right the kitchen; and, dim in the blue, arching wood-smoke, Clementina, with eyes as bright as ever under her kerchief; and sprightly little Nella, barefooted, and, still more extraordinary, bareheaded.It was a large, low room, with stone walls and a gaping plank ceiling, which formed also the floor of the room above, all encrusted with the black lichen-like deposit, harder than the stone itself, produced by the smoke of wood-fires. In one corner was a tiny window, and on the same side with it the hearth, with a wooden roof over it in lieu of chimney. The wood-fire, the cat, the red pipkin with the old woman bending over it, formed a pretty interior against the dark shadows of the great stack of brushwood which, with a flight of very rickety stairs, occupied the further end of the room.“Where do the stairs lead, Nonna?” I asked.“Oh, those lead into the cat’s rooms. You can go up if you like, but I advise you not to. It’s years since I have been there, and I expect they’re rather dirty.”It need hardly be said that I didnotgo up.The beans being now ready, a space was cleared on one of the two tables, which, loaded with most heterogeneous material, were propped up against the wall opposite the fire. Above the tables was the one patch of colour on the black walls—a coloured print or so of saints, a couple of rosaries, and a tiny hanging tin lamp. The old woman spread a coarse, newly-washed table-napkin on the space she had cleared, and placed on it a hunch of bread (brought that morning from the village), one glass, a little bottle of oil, and some salt in a piece of paper. The wicker-covered water-flask was put on the ground beside us; three chairs were produced, and three soup-plates, with brass spoons. Then the beans were divided and dressed with oil and salt, the bread was carved into three parts with a great clasp-knife from the old woman’s pocket, and we made a very excellent and nourishing meal. The one glass did duty for all three of us, being rinsed out with a peculiar jerk on to the stone floor after each had drunk.“Now the story, Nonna,” said I.So Clementina took up her knitting, and, locking the door behind us, we went out into the fresh, sweet evening air. We sat down under a huge chestnut tree. A number of little girls came clustering around us, busily engaged in making chestnut-leaf pockets for their wild strawberries and whortle-berries, and the old woman began:—Once upon a time there was a poor woman who had one daughter. One day, as this daughter was out in the forest getting firewood she struck her axe into a hollow tree. As soon as she had done so, a beautiful lady appeared and said to her:—“Will you come with me, little girl? I will take care of you, and give you everything you want.”So the little girl said yes, she would go, and the lady, who was really a fairy, took her to a beautiful palace.“Now,” said this fairy, “when you’re alone, and want me, you must call me Tassa, but when anyone else is with you, you must call me Aunt. You won’t always see me, but as soon as you call me I shall come to you. You may do what you like and go where you like in this palace.”So the girl lived for some time in the palace in the forest, and grew more and more beautiful every day. At last it happened that the king’s son, out hunting in that forest, came to the palace and saw the girl at the window. He rode round trying to find a door, but there was none.“Let me come in and talk to you,” he said to the girl. So she went into the next room, and called out “Tassa.”“What do you want, pretty maiden?”“The king’s son asks to come and talk to me.”“Let him come.”And immediately the prince saw a door and went in. After a little while he said:—“I should like to marry you; you are the most beautiful woman I have seen.”So the girl went into the next room and called “Tassa.”“What is it, pretty maiden?”“The prince wants to marry me.”“Let him come in a week with all his court and fetch you.”Then the prince went away, and the fairy gave the girl a box, saying:—“If you want to remain beautiful, take this box with you; and don’t forget to say good-bye to me before you go.”At the end of the week the prince came with a great train of carriages and courtiers to fetch his bride, and the girl was so dazzled by the splendour, and excited at the thought of marrying the prince, that she forgot to say good-bye to the fairy, and forgot her box till she was in the carriage. Then she suddenly remembered it, jumped out, and ran upstairs to the cupboard where she had put it. Now this was a cupboard in the wall, and the door pushed up as a shutter might do. The girl raised the door and put her head in to look for the box, when bang! down came the shutter on her neck.“Tassa, Tassa,” she shouted.“What do you want, ugly wench?”“I forgot to say good-bye to you. And oh, please let me out.”Then the cupboard door was raised, and the girl went downstairs. But when she appeared everyone began to laugh, for she had a sheep’s head!The prince made her get into the carriage, and then pulled down all the blinds, so that no one might see his ugly bride; and when he got home he had her put into the sheep stable.Now there were three beautiful women at the king’s palace who all wanted to marry the prince, and the prince did not know which to choose. So he brought some wool and said:—“The one who spins this best shall be my wife”; and he gave some wool to the girl with the sheep’s head as well.The three women set to work immediately and span and span with all their might; but the poor girl in the stable threw hers into the gutter and sat down to cry, while the others came and mocked her. At last it was the eve of the day on which they were to go before the prince, and the girl sobbed and sobbed, and began to call out “Tassa, Tassa!”“What do you want, ugly wench?”“I’ve thrown my wool away, and I don’t know what to do.”“Take this filbert, and when you come before the prince crack it. But you don’t deserve to be helped.”The next day the whole court was assembled and the three women gave their skeins of wool, and then the prince turned to the girl and said:—“What have you done?”“Baa, baa,” said she, and cracked the filbert. There was a skein of the finest wool that could be imagined, and all said that the sheep had done best.Then the prince gave each one a puppy, and said:—“The one whose puppy grows into the most beautiful dog shall be my bride.”So the three women took their puppies, and brushed them and combed them and washed them and fed them, till they were so fat they could hardly move; but the poor girl let hers run away.The women came and mocked her as before, but all she could say was “Baa, baa!”Again it was the eve of the day when they were to appear before the prince, and again the girl sat sobbing in her stable and calling “Tassa, Tassa!”“What do you want, ugly wench?”“My dog has run away, and to-morrow we go before the king.”“Take this walnut, and crack it as you did the filbert. But you don’t deserve to be helped.”The next day the whole court was assembled again. The three women presented their dogs,which waddled about and behaved very dirtily and badly.“And what have you done?” said the prince to the girl.“Baa, baa,” said she, and cracked the walnut. Out jumped the most lovely tiny dog, with a golden collar and golden tinkling bells; he fawned upon the king and the prince, and quite won their hearts by his pretty manners.“One more trial,” said the prince. “All appear before me again in a week’s time, and I will marry the most beautiful.”All that week the three women washed themselves, and scented themselves, and rubbed themselves till they rubbed the skin off, and pomaded their hair till it shone like a looking-glass; but the girl sat among the sheep and wept.On the last day of the week the women began to put on their fine dresses and ornaments; and the unhappy girl sobbed more bitterly than ever, and called out, “Tassa, Tassa!”“What do you want, pretty maiden?”“To-morrow we go before the prince. What shall I do?”“Go with the others: and if he marries you don’t forget to say good-bye to me.”The next morning the three women with their grand dresses, and their pomade, and their scent, strutted boldly in before the court and the prince.“Go to the stable and bring the fourth,”commanded the prince: and one of the courtiers went down.Soon the door opened and the room was filled with a blaze of light, as the beautiful maiden, sheep no longer, entered and knelt humbly before the king.“That is my bride,” said the prince, as he raised her and kissed her: “You others may go.”So a grand wedding-feast was prepared, and this time the girl did not forget to say good-bye to the fairy who had been so kind to her.PADRE ULIVO“Strange, lingering echoes of the old demon-worship might perhaps be even now caught by the diligent listener among the grey-haired peasantry,” says George Eliot, speaking of the Midland Counties of England. Stranger yet, perhaps, is the survival of the old pagan spirit, the haunting echo of old pagan legend, which any visitor to the hills of Tuscany may verify. Let him join the peasants as they meet now in one house, now in another, to spend the long winter evenings round the fire; or let him stroll, in the early autumn, into some low, dark kitchen where neighbours sit among piles of chestnut twigs, busily stripping off the leaves and making them into bundles for winter use in the baking of chestnut cakes (necci). There, amongstornelliandrispetti, he may well chance upon some such shrewd, quaint tale as the following:—Once upon a time there was a man called Padre Ulivo. He was always cheerful, always singing, and very fond of good company. He had a barrel of wine in the cellar, and everyevening his friends used to come and see him, sit round the fire, eat, drink, sing, and lead a merry life. But at last the barrel was empty, and all his provisions run out, so that he had nothing more to offer to those who came, and all his pleasant evenings were at an end. Now everyone avoided him, and his cottage grew dull and lonely. One night he had just enough flour left for one small cake.“Well,” said he, “I’ll make a littleschiacciatathis evening, bake it in the ashes, and to-morrow I must take what God sends.”So he made theschiacciata, ate half of it, and got into bed. He had not been there long before he heard a knock at the door.“Who’s there?” he called out.“Padre Ulivo,” said a voice from outside, “we want to come in and warm ourselves at your fire; open the door to us.”So Padre Ulivo jumped out of bed, opened the door, and there were twelve men outside.“Wait a minute while I put on my trousers,” said he, for he was in his shirt.“Now, Padre Ulivo,” said one of the men, “we want something to eat.”“Something to eat! How can I give you that when I have nothing in the house! I made a littleschiacciataof my last flour this evening. Look, here’s the bit I’ve not eaten.”“No, no; you must give us something to eat—we’re hungry.”“But, indeed, I don’t do it to deceive you. I have nothing; absolutely nothing.”“Go and look again in the cupboard.”“But what’s the good? It’s empty. Do you believe that I want to deceive you?”“Go and look, at all events.”So Padre Ulivo opened the cupboard, and found it quite full of meat and bread, and everything nice. Quite full! and of such good things as he had never hoped to have.“Oh!” said he, “don’t think I was deceiving you; there really was nothing there last time I went to it.”So he laid the table and they began to eat.“But we want wine,” said the man; “go to the cellar and get some.”“I have none,” said Padre Ulivo; “I used up all mine some time ago.”“Go and see.”“But it’s no good; my barrel is quite empty. Indeed it is not because I am greedy. I have none left.”“Go and see. We’ll come too.”So they all went down to the cellar.“You see,” said Padre Ulivo, tapping the barrel. “Listen how hollow it sounds!”“Draw out the spigot.”He did so, and immediately there spurted out such a stream of wine as knocked him right against the opposite wall.“Oh, oh!” said he. “I swear it was empty last time I came here.”Then he filled a big jug, and they all went upstairs and made a good supper.“Now we want to sleep here,” said the men.“But I have only one bed,” answered Padre Ulivo; “and there are thirteen of us! I know what I’ll do, though; I’ll put the mattress on the floor, and we must manage the best way we can.”So he put the mattress on the floor, spread sheets on it, and they slept comfortably, some on the mattress and some on the bed.The next morning the men went away, and Padre Ulivo accompanied them for some little distance on their journey, walking behind with one who was especially friendly.“The one in front,” said this man, “the most important of us all, is Dominiddio[2]himself. Go and ask him a favour.”So Padre Ulivo ran on, and threw himself on his knees in the road.“What do you want?” said Dominiddio. “I will grant you whatever you ask for.”“I want that anyone who sits down on my chair may be unable to rise without my permission.”“Be it so.”And Padre Ulivo returned to his companion.“Have you asked a favour?”“Yes, and it’s granted.”“What did you ask?”Padre Ulivo told him.“Oh, you stupid man! But go and ask another favour quickly. And mind it’s something great, and something really for yourself. Remember you are speaking to Dominiddio.”Padre Ulivo ran on again and knelt down.“What do you want this time? You shall have it.”“Let anyone who gets up into my fig-tree be unable to come down without my permission.”“Very well; it shall be so.”And Padre Ulivo came back leaping for joy.“Well, and what did you ask for?”Padre Ulivo told him.“Oh, you fool! Go again, you will get one more favour; but mind you ask for something really good for yourself.”He wanted him to ask to go to Paradise.“Again!” said Dominiddio, when he saw Padre Ulivo in the dust before him. “Well, this is the last time. What do you want?”“Let me always win at cards, no matter whom I may be playing with.”“Be it so. And now no more.”Padre Ulivo came back to his companion singing for joy.“What have you asked for this time? Something really great?”“Oh, yes,” said Padre Ulivo, and told him.“Well, you’ve lost your chance now. Good-bye.”With that he left him and Padre Ulivo went home.Now his jolly times began again. His barrel of wine never ran dry, and his cupboard never grew empty. Everybody came to see him. They ate, drank, and led a merry life.✴✴✴✴✴But Padre Ulivo grew old; and one day Death came to him.“Oh, how do you do?” said Padre Ulivo. “You want me, do you? Well, I was just beginning to fear you had forgotten me, and to wonder where you could be. Sit down and take a rest, and then I’ll come with you.”So Death sat down on the chair in the chimney-corner, while Padre Ulivo piled on wood and made a splendid blaze.“Now we must go,” said Death, when he was warm. “Oh, oh! what’s this?” For when he tried to get up the chair stuck to him and he could not move. “Oh, oh!” And he pulled at the chair that seemed glued firmly to him. “Padre Ulivo, let me go! I have to go for the carpenter’s daughter before sundown. Oh, oh! I can’t get up. You’ve bewitched me.”“Promise not to come back for a hundred years, and you shall go free.”“A hundred! A hundred and one, if you like! Only take the spell off.”So Padre Ulivo gave him permission to rise, and Death went away.✴✴✴✴✴Things went on as usual for the hundred years, with feasting and merry-making. But at last, as Padre Ulivo was among his friends, Death appeared again.“Yes, yes, I’m ready. But let us have a feast of figs first. See what splendid fruit there! I and my friends had as much as we wanted yesterday, it’s your turn to-day. Go up and help yourself; I am too old to climb.”So Death went up the tree and picked and ate to his heart’s content.“Now we must go,” said he. “Hullo! I can’t get down. Oh, Padre Ulivo, you’ve bewitched me again!” And he stretched out now an arm, now a leg, and twisted and turned; but it was all of no good, and the others stood below laughing at him.“Oh, Padre Ulivo! I’ll leave you another hundred years, if you’ll only let me get down.”“Very well; then you may come.”So Death climbed down and went away.✴✴✴✴✴When the hundred years were passed, he came and stood outside the cottage.“Padre Ulivo, Padre Ulivo, come out! Ishan’t come near your house this time. I don’t want to be tricked again.”“Oh, no, I’m coming. Wait till I get my jacket.”So he put on his coat and went with Death.On the way they met the Devil.“Ah, good morning, Padre Ulivo” (one can see they knew each other very well), “so you’re coming my way, are you?”“To be sure I am. But let’s have a game at cards first.”“By all means! What shall we play for?”“For souls. A soul for every game.”“Good! I’m not afraid. Nobody ever beat the Devil yet at cards.”So they began, and Padre Ulivo won game after game.The Devil got very angry and spit flames of fire from sheer rage, as he saw the crowd of souls collecting round Padre Ulivo.“This will never do,” he said at last. “I shall have no fire left to warm myself at if I go on losing my fuel at this rate. Padre Ulivo, take your souls and be off. I have had enough of you.”They left the Devil boiling over with fury, and went and knocked at the gate of Heaven.“Who’s there?”“Padre Ulivo.”“I’ll go and ask if you may come in.” Then, after a little time: “Dominiddio saysyou may come in, if you’re alone; but you must not bring anyone else.”“Go and tell Dominiddio that when he came to me I let him in with all his friends. He ought to do the same by me.”The porter took the message, and then came and opened the gates.“Dominiddio says you may all come in together.”So they threw themselves down in the armchairs of Paradise, and enjoyed themselves for ever.Surely a tale of this kind is an eloquent commentary on the mind of the people who have preserved it. The shrewd cunning, the frank materialism, the lavish generosity, so long as there is anything to be generous with (“since it’s there,” they will say as they offer or use the last of their store), are all strongly marked features among these peasants.At the same time, the story itself suggests a curious feeling that we have to do with Jupiter and Mercury transformed in the crucible of Christian history and Catholic dogma. The transformation is an instructive one in many ways, and it would be interesting to know whether it has taken place in any other country besides Italy.
TASSAClementinahad enticed me to her cottage with the promise of country beans cooked in country fashion, to be followed by a story under the chestnut woods. So at about four in the afternoon, when the heat of the day was over in the breezy mountain village, I sauntered through the street, past the swarming black-eyed children, and the cheerful, smiling washerwomen busy at the tank under the pump, out on the white road beyond; and, gazing now at the landscape on the left, now at the ever-varying forms of the Apennines before me—“Ever some new head or breast of them,Thrusts into view,”says Browning—now climbing the bank on the right for flowers or mountain-strawberries, I arrived, after half an hour’s stroll, at the little hamlet of Ciecafumo.There stood the cluster of smoke-blackened cottages, with the large patch of rye, beans, etc. (apparently common property), before them, against a background of magnificentchestnut trees. Passing under a picturesque archway, and crossing a cobbled space which did duty as a street, I pushed open the wooden door of Clementina’s house. Before me was a flight of stairs which might have been washed towards the end of the last century: on the right the kitchen; and, dim in the blue, arching wood-smoke, Clementina, with eyes as bright as ever under her kerchief; and sprightly little Nella, barefooted, and, still more extraordinary, bareheaded.It was a large, low room, with stone walls and a gaping plank ceiling, which formed also the floor of the room above, all encrusted with the black lichen-like deposit, harder than the stone itself, produced by the smoke of wood-fires. In one corner was a tiny window, and on the same side with it the hearth, with a wooden roof over it in lieu of chimney. The wood-fire, the cat, the red pipkin with the old woman bending over it, formed a pretty interior against the dark shadows of the great stack of brushwood which, with a flight of very rickety stairs, occupied the further end of the room.“Where do the stairs lead, Nonna?” I asked.“Oh, those lead into the cat’s rooms. You can go up if you like, but I advise you not to. It’s years since I have been there, and I expect they’re rather dirty.”It need hardly be said that I didnotgo up.The beans being now ready, a space was cleared on one of the two tables, which, loaded with most heterogeneous material, were propped up against the wall opposite the fire. Above the tables was the one patch of colour on the black walls—a coloured print or so of saints, a couple of rosaries, and a tiny hanging tin lamp. The old woman spread a coarse, newly-washed table-napkin on the space she had cleared, and placed on it a hunch of bread (brought that morning from the village), one glass, a little bottle of oil, and some salt in a piece of paper. The wicker-covered water-flask was put on the ground beside us; three chairs were produced, and three soup-plates, with brass spoons. Then the beans were divided and dressed with oil and salt, the bread was carved into three parts with a great clasp-knife from the old woman’s pocket, and we made a very excellent and nourishing meal. The one glass did duty for all three of us, being rinsed out with a peculiar jerk on to the stone floor after each had drunk.“Now the story, Nonna,” said I.So Clementina took up her knitting, and, locking the door behind us, we went out into the fresh, sweet evening air. We sat down under a huge chestnut tree. A number of little girls came clustering around us, busily engaged in making chestnut-leaf pockets for their wild strawberries and whortle-berries, and the old woman began:—Once upon a time there was a poor woman who had one daughter. One day, as this daughter was out in the forest getting firewood she struck her axe into a hollow tree. As soon as she had done so, a beautiful lady appeared and said to her:—“Will you come with me, little girl? I will take care of you, and give you everything you want.”So the little girl said yes, she would go, and the lady, who was really a fairy, took her to a beautiful palace.“Now,” said this fairy, “when you’re alone, and want me, you must call me Tassa, but when anyone else is with you, you must call me Aunt. You won’t always see me, but as soon as you call me I shall come to you. You may do what you like and go where you like in this palace.”So the girl lived for some time in the palace in the forest, and grew more and more beautiful every day. At last it happened that the king’s son, out hunting in that forest, came to the palace and saw the girl at the window. He rode round trying to find a door, but there was none.“Let me come in and talk to you,” he said to the girl. So she went into the next room, and called out “Tassa.”“What do you want, pretty maiden?”“The king’s son asks to come and talk to me.”“Let him come.”And immediately the prince saw a door and went in. After a little while he said:—“I should like to marry you; you are the most beautiful woman I have seen.”So the girl went into the next room and called “Tassa.”“What is it, pretty maiden?”“The prince wants to marry me.”“Let him come in a week with all his court and fetch you.”Then the prince went away, and the fairy gave the girl a box, saying:—“If you want to remain beautiful, take this box with you; and don’t forget to say good-bye to me before you go.”At the end of the week the prince came with a great train of carriages and courtiers to fetch his bride, and the girl was so dazzled by the splendour, and excited at the thought of marrying the prince, that she forgot to say good-bye to the fairy, and forgot her box till she was in the carriage. Then she suddenly remembered it, jumped out, and ran upstairs to the cupboard where she had put it. Now this was a cupboard in the wall, and the door pushed up as a shutter might do. The girl raised the door and put her head in to look for the box, when bang! down came the shutter on her neck.“Tassa, Tassa,” she shouted.“What do you want, ugly wench?”“I forgot to say good-bye to you. And oh, please let me out.”Then the cupboard door was raised, and the girl went downstairs. But when she appeared everyone began to laugh, for she had a sheep’s head!The prince made her get into the carriage, and then pulled down all the blinds, so that no one might see his ugly bride; and when he got home he had her put into the sheep stable.Now there were three beautiful women at the king’s palace who all wanted to marry the prince, and the prince did not know which to choose. So he brought some wool and said:—“The one who spins this best shall be my wife”; and he gave some wool to the girl with the sheep’s head as well.The three women set to work immediately and span and span with all their might; but the poor girl in the stable threw hers into the gutter and sat down to cry, while the others came and mocked her. At last it was the eve of the day on which they were to go before the prince, and the girl sobbed and sobbed, and began to call out “Tassa, Tassa!”“What do you want, ugly wench?”“I’ve thrown my wool away, and I don’t know what to do.”“Take this filbert, and when you come before the prince crack it. But you don’t deserve to be helped.”The next day the whole court was assembled and the three women gave their skeins of wool, and then the prince turned to the girl and said:—“What have you done?”“Baa, baa,” said she, and cracked the filbert. There was a skein of the finest wool that could be imagined, and all said that the sheep had done best.Then the prince gave each one a puppy, and said:—“The one whose puppy grows into the most beautiful dog shall be my bride.”So the three women took their puppies, and brushed them and combed them and washed them and fed them, till they were so fat they could hardly move; but the poor girl let hers run away.The women came and mocked her as before, but all she could say was “Baa, baa!”Again it was the eve of the day when they were to appear before the prince, and again the girl sat sobbing in her stable and calling “Tassa, Tassa!”“What do you want, ugly wench?”“My dog has run away, and to-morrow we go before the king.”“Take this walnut, and crack it as you did the filbert. But you don’t deserve to be helped.”The next day the whole court was assembled again. The three women presented their dogs,which waddled about and behaved very dirtily and badly.“And what have you done?” said the prince to the girl.“Baa, baa,” said she, and cracked the walnut. Out jumped the most lovely tiny dog, with a golden collar and golden tinkling bells; he fawned upon the king and the prince, and quite won their hearts by his pretty manners.“One more trial,” said the prince. “All appear before me again in a week’s time, and I will marry the most beautiful.”All that week the three women washed themselves, and scented themselves, and rubbed themselves till they rubbed the skin off, and pomaded their hair till it shone like a looking-glass; but the girl sat among the sheep and wept.On the last day of the week the women began to put on their fine dresses and ornaments; and the unhappy girl sobbed more bitterly than ever, and called out, “Tassa, Tassa!”“What do you want, pretty maiden?”“To-morrow we go before the prince. What shall I do?”“Go with the others: and if he marries you don’t forget to say good-bye to me.”The next morning the three women with their grand dresses, and their pomade, and their scent, strutted boldly in before the court and the prince.“Go to the stable and bring the fourth,”commanded the prince: and one of the courtiers went down.Soon the door opened and the room was filled with a blaze of light, as the beautiful maiden, sheep no longer, entered and knelt humbly before the king.“That is my bride,” said the prince, as he raised her and kissed her: “You others may go.”So a grand wedding-feast was prepared, and this time the girl did not forget to say good-bye to the fairy who had been so kind to her.PADRE ULIVO“Strange, lingering echoes of the old demon-worship might perhaps be even now caught by the diligent listener among the grey-haired peasantry,” says George Eliot, speaking of the Midland Counties of England. Stranger yet, perhaps, is the survival of the old pagan spirit, the haunting echo of old pagan legend, which any visitor to the hills of Tuscany may verify. Let him join the peasants as they meet now in one house, now in another, to spend the long winter evenings round the fire; or let him stroll, in the early autumn, into some low, dark kitchen where neighbours sit among piles of chestnut twigs, busily stripping off the leaves and making them into bundles for winter use in the baking of chestnut cakes (necci). There, amongstornelliandrispetti, he may well chance upon some such shrewd, quaint tale as the following:—Once upon a time there was a man called Padre Ulivo. He was always cheerful, always singing, and very fond of good company. He had a barrel of wine in the cellar, and everyevening his friends used to come and see him, sit round the fire, eat, drink, sing, and lead a merry life. But at last the barrel was empty, and all his provisions run out, so that he had nothing more to offer to those who came, and all his pleasant evenings were at an end. Now everyone avoided him, and his cottage grew dull and lonely. One night he had just enough flour left for one small cake.“Well,” said he, “I’ll make a littleschiacciatathis evening, bake it in the ashes, and to-morrow I must take what God sends.”So he made theschiacciata, ate half of it, and got into bed. He had not been there long before he heard a knock at the door.“Who’s there?” he called out.“Padre Ulivo,” said a voice from outside, “we want to come in and warm ourselves at your fire; open the door to us.”So Padre Ulivo jumped out of bed, opened the door, and there were twelve men outside.“Wait a minute while I put on my trousers,” said he, for he was in his shirt.“Now, Padre Ulivo,” said one of the men, “we want something to eat.”“Something to eat! How can I give you that when I have nothing in the house! I made a littleschiacciataof my last flour this evening. Look, here’s the bit I’ve not eaten.”“No, no; you must give us something to eat—we’re hungry.”“But, indeed, I don’t do it to deceive you. I have nothing; absolutely nothing.”“Go and look again in the cupboard.”“But what’s the good? It’s empty. Do you believe that I want to deceive you?”“Go and look, at all events.”So Padre Ulivo opened the cupboard, and found it quite full of meat and bread, and everything nice. Quite full! and of such good things as he had never hoped to have.“Oh!” said he, “don’t think I was deceiving you; there really was nothing there last time I went to it.”So he laid the table and they began to eat.“But we want wine,” said the man; “go to the cellar and get some.”“I have none,” said Padre Ulivo; “I used up all mine some time ago.”“Go and see.”“But it’s no good; my barrel is quite empty. Indeed it is not because I am greedy. I have none left.”“Go and see. We’ll come too.”So they all went down to the cellar.“You see,” said Padre Ulivo, tapping the barrel. “Listen how hollow it sounds!”“Draw out the spigot.”He did so, and immediately there spurted out such a stream of wine as knocked him right against the opposite wall.“Oh, oh!” said he. “I swear it was empty last time I came here.”Then he filled a big jug, and they all went upstairs and made a good supper.“Now we want to sleep here,” said the men.“But I have only one bed,” answered Padre Ulivo; “and there are thirteen of us! I know what I’ll do, though; I’ll put the mattress on the floor, and we must manage the best way we can.”So he put the mattress on the floor, spread sheets on it, and they slept comfortably, some on the mattress and some on the bed.The next morning the men went away, and Padre Ulivo accompanied them for some little distance on their journey, walking behind with one who was especially friendly.“The one in front,” said this man, “the most important of us all, is Dominiddio[2]himself. Go and ask him a favour.”So Padre Ulivo ran on, and threw himself on his knees in the road.“What do you want?” said Dominiddio. “I will grant you whatever you ask for.”“I want that anyone who sits down on my chair may be unable to rise without my permission.”“Be it so.”And Padre Ulivo returned to his companion.“Have you asked a favour?”“Yes, and it’s granted.”“What did you ask?”Padre Ulivo told him.“Oh, you stupid man! But go and ask another favour quickly. And mind it’s something great, and something really for yourself. Remember you are speaking to Dominiddio.”Padre Ulivo ran on again and knelt down.“What do you want this time? You shall have it.”“Let anyone who gets up into my fig-tree be unable to come down without my permission.”“Very well; it shall be so.”And Padre Ulivo came back leaping for joy.“Well, and what did you ask for?”Padre Ulivo told him.“Oh, you fool! Go again, you will get one more favour; but mind you ask for something really good for yourself.”He wanted him to ask to go to Paradise.“Again!” said Dominiddio, when he saw Padre Ulivo in the dust before him. “Well, this is the last time. What do you want?”“Let me always win at cards, no matter whom I may be playing with.”“Be it so. And now no more.”Padre Ulivo came back to his companion singing for joy.“What have you asked for this time? Something really great?”“Oh, yes,” said Padre Ulivo, and told him.“Well, you’ve lost your chance now. Good-bye.”With that he left him and Padre Ulivo went home.Now his jolly times began again. His barrel of wine never ran dry, and his cupboard never grew empty. Everybody came to see him. They ate, drank, and led a merry life.✴✴✴✴✴But Padre Ulivo grew old; and one day Death came to him.“Oh, how do you do?” said Padre Ulivo. “You want me, do you? Well, I was just beginning to fear you had forgotten me, and to wonder where you could be. Sit down and take a rest, and then I’ll come with you.”So Death sat down on the chair in the chimney-corner, while Padre Ulivo piled on wood and made a splendid blaze.“Now we must go,” said Death, when he was warm. “Oh, oh! what’s this?” For when he tried to get up the chair stuck to him and he could not move. “Oh, oh!” And he pulled at the chair that seemed glued firmly to him. “Padre Ulivo, let me go! I have to go for the carpenter’s daughter before sundown. Oh, oh! I can’t get up. You’ve bewitched me.”“Promise not to come back for a hundred years, and you shall go free.”“A hundred! A hundred and one, if you like! Only take the spell off.”So Padre Ulivo gave him permission to rise, and Death went away.✴✴✴✴✴Things went on as usual for the hundred years, with feasting and merry-making. But at last, as Padre Ulivo was among his friends, Death appeared again.“Yes, yes, I’m ready. But let us have a feast of figs first. See what splendid fruit there! I and my friends had as much as we wanted yesterday, it’s your turn to-day. Go up and help yourself; I am too old to climb.”So Death went up the tree and picked and ate to his heart’s content.“Now we must go,” said he. “Hullo! I can’t get down. Oh, Padre Ulivo, you’ve bewitched me again!” And he stretched out now an arm, now a leg, and twisted and turned; but it was all of no good, and the others stood below laughing at him.“Oh, Padre Ulivo! I’ll leave you another hundred years, if you’ll only let me get down.”“Very well; then you may come.”So Death climbed down and went away.✴✴✴✴✴When the hundred years were passed, he came and stood outside the cottage.“Padre Ulivo, Padre Ulivo, come out! Ishan’t come near your house this time. I don’t want to be tricked again.”“Oh, no, I’m coming. Wait till I get my jacket.”So he put on his coat and went with Death.On the way they met the Devil.“Ah, good morning, Padre Ulivo” (one can see they knew each other very well), “so you’re coming my way, are you?”“To be sure I am. But let’s have a game at cards first.”“By all means! What shall we play for?”“For souls. A soul for every game.”“Good! I’m not afraid. Nobody ever beat the Devil yet at cards.”So they began, and Padre Ulivo won game after game.The Devil got very angry and spit flames of fire from sheer rage, as he saw the crowd of souls collecting round Padre Ulivo.“This will never do,” he said at last. “I shall have no fire left to warm myself at if I go on losing my fuel at this rate. Padre Ulivo, take your souls and be off. I have had enough of you.”They left the Devil boiling over with fury, and went and knocked at the gate of Heaven.“Who’s there?”“Padre Ulivo.”“I’ll go and ask if you may come in.” Then, after a little time: “Dominiddio saysyou may come in, if you’re alone; but you must not bring anyone else.”“Go and tell Dominiddio that when he came to me I let him in with all his friends. He ought to do the same by me.”The porter took the message, and then came and opened the gates.“Dominiddio says you may all come in together.”So they threw themselves down in the armchairs of Paradise, and enjoyed themselves for ever.Surely a tale of this kind is an eloquent commentary on the mind of the people who have preserved it. The shrewd cunning, the frank materialism, the lavish generosity, so long as there is anything to be generous with (“since it’s there,” they will say as they offer or use the last of their store), are all strongly marked features among these peasants.At the same time, the story itself suggests a curious feeling that we have to do with Jupiter and Mercury transformed in the crucible of Christian history and Catholic dogma. The transformation is an instructive one in many ways, and it would be interesting to know whether it has taken place in any other country besides Italy.
Clementinahad enticed me to her cottage with the promise of country beans cooked in country fashion, to be followed by a story under the chestnut woods. So at about four in the afternoon, when the heat of the day was over in the breezy mountain village, I sauntered through the street, past the swarming black-eyed children, and the cheerful, smiling washerwomen busy at the tank under the pump, out on the white road beyond; and, gazing now at the landscape on the left, now at the ever-varying forms of the Apennines before me—
“Ever some new head or breast of them,Thrusts into view,”
says Browning—now climbing the bank on the right for flowers or mountain-strawberries, I arrived, after half an hour’s stroll, at the little hamlet of Ciecafumo.
There stood the cluster of smoke-blackened cottages, with the large patch of rye, beans, etc. (apparently common property), before them, against a background of magnificentchestnut trees. Passing under a picturesque archway, and crossing a cobbled space which did duty as a street, I pushed open the wooden door of Clementina’s house. Before me was a flight of stairs which might have been washed towards the end of the last century: on the right the kitchen; and, dim in the blue, arching wood-smoke, Clementina, with eyes as bright as ever under her kerchief; and sprightly little Nella, barefooted, and, still more extraordinary, bareheaded.
It was a large, low room, with stone walls and a gaping plank ceiling, which formed also the floor of the room above, all encrusted with the black lichen-like deposit, harder than the stone itself, produced by the smoke of wood-fires. In one corner was a tiny window, and on the same side with it the hearth, with a wooden roof over it in lieu of chimney. The wood-fire, the cat, the red pipkin with the old woman bending over it, formed a pretty interior against the dark shadows of the great stack of brushwood which, with a flight of very rickety stairs, occupied the further end of the room.
“Where do the stairs lead, Nonna?” I asked.
“Oh, those lead into the cat’s rooms. You can go up if you like, but I advise you not to. It’s years since I have been there, and I expect they’re rather dirty.”
It need hardly be said that I didnotgo up.The beans being now ready, a space was cleared on one of the two tables, which, loaded with most heterogeneous material, were propped up against the wall opposite the fire. Above the tables was the one patch of colour on the black walls—a coloured print or so of saints, a couple of rosaries, and a tiny hanging tin lamp. The old woman spread a coarse, newly-washed table-napkin on the space she had cleared, and placed on it a hunch of bread (brought that morning from the village), one glass, a little bottle of oil, and some salt in a piece of paper. The wicker-covered water-flask was put on the ground beside us; three chairs were produced, and three soup-plates, with brass spoons. Then the beans were divided and dressed with oil and salt, the bread was carved into three parts with a great clasp-knife from the old woman’s pocket, and we made a very excellent and nourishing meal. The one glass did duty for all three of us, being rinsed out with a peculiar jerk on to the stone floor after each had drunk.
“Now the story, Nonna,” said I.
So Clementina took up her knitting, and, locking the door behind us, we went out into the fresh, sweet evening air. We sat down under a huge chestnut tree. A number of little girls came clustering around us, busily engaged in making chestnut-leaf pockets for their wild strawberries and whortle-berries, and the old woman began:—
Once upon a time there was a poor woman who had one daughter. One day, as this daughter was out in the forest getting firewood she struck her axe into a hollow tree. As soon as she had done so, a beautiful lady appeared and said to her:—
“Will you come with me, little girl? I will take care of you, and give you everything you want.”
So the little girl said yes, she would go, and the lady, who was really a fairy, took her to a beautiful palace.
“Now,” said this fairy, “when you’re alone, and want me, you must call me Tassa, but when anyone else is with you, you must call me Aunt. You won’t always see me, but as soon as you call me I shall come to you. You may do what you like and go where you like in this palace.”
So the girl lived for some time in the palace in the forest, and grew more and more beautiful every day. At last it happened that the king’s son, out hunting in that forest, came to the palace and saw the girl at the window. He rode round trying to find a door, but there was none.
“Let me come in and talk to you,” he said to the girl. So she went into the next room, and called out “Tassa.”
“What do you want, pretty maiden?”
“The king’s son asks to come and talk to me.”
“Let him come.”
And immediately the prince saw a door and went in. After a little while he said:—
“I should like to marry you; you are the most beautiful woman I have seen.”
So the girl went into the next room and called “Tassa.”
“What is it, pretty maiden?”
“The prince wants to marry me.”
“Let him come in a week with all his court and fetch you.”
Then the prince went away, and the fairy gave the girl a box, saying:—
“If you want to remain beautiful, take this box with you; and don’t forget to say good-bye to me before you go.”
At the end of the week the prince came with a great train of carriages and courtiers to fetch his bride, and the girl was so dazzled by the splendour, and excited at the thought of marrying the prince, that she forgot to say good-bye to the fairy, and forgot her box till she was in the carriage. Then she suddenly remembered it, jumped out, and ran upstairs to the cupboard where she had put it. Now this was a cupboard in the wall, and the door pushed up as a shutter might do. The girl raised the door and put her head in to look for the box, when bang! down came the shutter on her neck.
“Tassa, Tassa,” she shouted.
“What do you want, ugly wench?”
“I forgot to say good-bye to you. And oh, please let me out.”
Then the cupboard door was raised, and the girl went downstairs. But when she appeared everyone began to laugh, for she had a sheep’s head!
The prince made her get into the carriage, and then pulled down all the blinds, so that no one might see his ugly bride; and when he got home he had her put into the sheep stable.
Now there were three beautiful women at the king’s palace who all wanted to marry the prince, and the prince did not know which to choose. So he brought some wool and said:—
“The one who spins this best shall be my wife”; and he gave some wool to the girl with the sheep’s head as well.
The three women set to work immediately and span and span with all their might; but the poor girl in the stable threw hers into the gutter and sat down to cry, while the others came and mocked her. At last it was the eve of the day on which they were to go before the prince, and the girl sobbed and sobbed, and began to call out “Tassa, Tassa!”
“What do you want, ugly wench?”
“I’ve thrown my wool away, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Take this filbert, and when you come before the prince crack it. But you don’t deserve to be helped.”
The next day the whole court was assembled and the three women gave their skeins of wool, and then the prince turned to the girl and said:—
“What have you done?”
“Baa, baa,” said she, and cracked the filbert. There was a skein of the finest wool that could be imagined, and all said that the sheep had done best.
Then the prince gave each one a puppy, and said:—
“The one whose puppy grows into the most beautiful dog shall be my bride.”
So the three women took their puppies, and brushed them and combed them and washed them and fed them, till they were so fat they could hardly move; but the poor girl let hers run away.
The women came and mocked her as before, but all she could say was “Baa, baa!”
Again it was the eve of the day when they were to appear before the prince, and again the girl sat sobbing in her stable and calling “Tassa, Tassa!”
“What do you want, ugly wench?”
“My dog has run away, and to-morrow we go before the king.”
“Take this walnut, and crack it as you did the filbert. But you don’t deserve to be helped.”
The next day the whole court was assembled again. The three women presented their dogs,which waddled about and behaved very dirtily and badly.
“And what have you done?” said the prince to the girl.
“Baa, baa,” said she, and cracked the walnut. Out jumped the most lovely tiny dog, with a golden collar and golden tinkling bells; he fawned upon the king and the prince, and quite won their hearts by his pretty manners.
“One more trial,” said the prince. “All appear before me again in a week’s time, and I will marry the most beautiful.”
All that week the three women washed themselves, and scented themselves, and rubbed themselves till they rubbed the skin off, and pomaded their hair till it shone like a looking-glass; but the girl sat among the sheep and wept.
On the last day of the week the women began to put on their fine dresses and ornaments; and the unhappy girl sobbed more bitterly than ever, and called out, “Tassa, Tassa!”
“What do you want, pretty maiden?”
“To-morrow we go before the prince. What shall I do?”
“Go with the others: and if he marries you don’t forget to say good-bye to me.”
The next morning the three women with their grand dresses, and their pomade, and their scent, strutted boldly in before the court and the prince.
“Go to the stable and bring the fourth,”commanded the prince: and one of the courtiers went down.
Soon the door opened and the room was filled with a blaze of light, as the beautiful maiden, sheep no longer, entered and knelt humbly before the king.
“That is my bride,” said the prince, as he raised her and kissed her: “You others may go.”
So a grand wedding-feast was prepared, and this time the girl did not forget to say good-bye to the fairy who had been so kind to her.
“Strange, lingering echoes of the old demon-worship might perhaps be even now caught by the diligent listener among the grey-haired peasantry,” says George Eliot, speaking of the Midland Counties of England. Stranger yet, perhaps, is the survival of the old pagan spirit, the haunting echo of old pagan legend, which any visitor to the hills of Tuscany may verify. Let him join the peasants as they meet now in one house, now in another, to spend the long winter evenings round the fire; or let him stroll, in the early autumn, into some low, dark kitchen where neighbours sit among piles of chestnut twigs, busily stripping off the leaves and making them into bundles for winter use in the baking of chestnut cakes (necci). There, amongstornelliandrispetti, he may well chance upon some such shrewd, quaint tale as the following:—
Once upon a time there was a man called Padre Ulivo. He was always cheerful, always singing, and very fond of good company. He had a barrel of wine in the cellar, and everyevening his friends used to come and see him, sit round the fire, eat, drink, sing, and lead a merry life. But at last the barrel was empty, and all his provisions run out, so that he had nothing more to offer to those who came, and all his pleasant evenings were at an end. Now everyone avoided him, and his cottage grew dull and lonely. One night he had just enough flour left for one small cake.
“Well,” said he, “I’ll make a littleschiacciatathis evening, bake it in the ashes, and to-morrow I must take what God sends.”
So he made theschiacciata, ate half of it, and got into bed. He had not been there long before he heard a knock at the door.
“Who’s there?” he called out.
“Padre Ulivo,” said a voice from outside, “we want to come in and warm ourselves at your fire; open the door to us.”
So Padre Ulivo jumped out of bed, opened the door, and there were twelve men outside.
“Wait a minute while I put on my trousers,” said he, for he was in his shirt.
“Now, Padre Ulivo,” said one of the men, “we want something to eat.”
“Something to eat! How can I give you that when I have nothing in the house! I made a littleschiacciataof my last flour this evening. Look, here’s the bit I’ve not eaten.”
“No, no; you must give us something to eat—we’re hungry.”
“But, indeed, I don’t do it to deceive you. I have nothing; absolutely nothing.”
“Go and look again in the cupboard.”
“But what’s the good? It’s empty. Do you believe that I want to deceive you?”
“Go and look, at all events.”
So Padre Ulivo opened the cupboard, and found it quite full of meat and bread, and everything nice. Quite full! and of such good things as he had never hoped to have.
“Oh!” said he, “don’t think I was deceiving you; there really was nothing there last time I went to it.”
So he laid the table and they began to eat.
“But we want wine,” said the man; “go to the cellar and get some.”
“I have none,” said Padre Ulivo; “I used up all mine some time ago.”
“Go and see.”
“But it’s no good; my barrel is quite empty. Indeed it is not because I am greedy. I have none left.”
“Go and see. We’ll come too.”
So they all went down to the cellar.
“You see,” said Padre Ulivo, tapping the barrel. “Listen how hollow it sounds!”
“Draw out the spigot.”
He did so, and immediately there spurted out such a stream of wine as knocked him right against the opposite wall.
“Oh, oh!” said he. “I swear it was empty last time I came here.”
Then he filled a big jug, and they all went upstairs and made a good supper.
“Now we want to sleep here,” said the men.
“But I have only one bed,” answered Padre Ulivo; “and there are thirteen of us! I know what I’ll do, though; I’ll put the mattress on the floor, and we must manage the best way we can.”
So he put the mattress on the floor, spread sheets on it, and they slept comfortably, some on the mattress and some on the bed.
The next morning the men went away, and Padre Ulivo accompanied them for some little distance on their journey, walking behind with one who was especially friendly.
“The one in front,” said this man, “the most important of us all, is Dominiddio[2]himself. Go and ask him a favour.”
So Padre Ulivo ran on, and threw himself on his knees in the road.
“What do you want?” said Dominiddio. “I will grant you whatever you ask for.”
“I want that anyone who sits down on my chair may be unable to rise without my permission.”
“Be it so.”
And Padre Ulivo returned to his companion.
“Have you asked a favour?”
“Yes, and it’s granted.”
“What did you ask?”
Padre Ulivo told him.
“Oh, you stupid man! But go and ask another favour quickly. And mind it’s something great, and something really for yourself. Remember you are speaking to Dominiddio.”
Padre Ulivo ran on again and knelt down.
“What do you want this time? You shall have it.”
“Let anyone who gets up into my fig-tree be unable to come down without my permission.”
“Very well; it shall be so.”
And Padre Ulivo came back leaping for joy.
“Well, and what did you ask for?”
Padre Ulivo told him.
“Oh, you fool! Go again, you will get one more favour; but mind you ask for something really good for yourself.”
He wanted him to ask to go to Paradise.
“Again!” said Dominiddio, when he saw Padre Ulivo in the dust before him. “Well, this is the last time. What do you want?”
“Let me always win at cards, no matter whom I may be playing with.”
“Be it so. And now no more.”
Padre Ulivo came back to his companion singing for joy.
“What have you asked for this time? Something really great?”
“Oh, yes,” said Padre Ulivo, and told him.
“Well, you’ve lost your chance now. Good-bye.”
With that he left him and Padre Ulivo went home.
Now his jolly times began again. His barrel of wine never ran dry, and his cupboard never grew empty. Everybody came to see him. They ate, drank, and led a merry life.
✴✴✴✴✴
But Padre Ulivo grew old; and one day Death came to him.
“Oh, how do you do?” said Padre Ulivo. “You want me, do you? Well, I was just beginning to fear you had forgotten me, and to wonder where you could be. Sit down and take a rest, and then I’ll come with you.”
So Death sat down on the chair in the chimney-corner, while Padre Ulivo piled on wood and made a splendid blaze.
“Now we must go,” said Death, when he was warm. “Oh, oh! what’s this?” For when he tried to get up the chair stuck to him and he could not move. “Oh, oh!” And he pulled at the chair that seemed glued firmly to him. “Padre Ulivo, let me go! I have to go for the carpenter’s daughter before sundown. Oh, oh! I can’t get up. You’ve bewitched me.”
“Promise not to come back for a hundred years, and you shall go free.”
“A hundred! A hundred and one, if you like! Only take the spell off.”
So Padre Ulivo gave him permission to rise, and Death went away.
✴✴✴✴✴
Things went on as usual for the hundred years, with feasting and merry-making. But at last, as Padre Ulivo was among his friends, Death appeared again.
“Yes, yes, I’m ready. But let us have a feast of figs first. See what splendid fruit there! I and my friends had as much as we wanted yesterday, it’s your turn to-day. Go up and help yourself; I am too old to climb.”
So Death went up the tree and picked and ate to his heart’s content.
“Now we must go,” said he. “Hullo! I can’t get down. Oh, Padre Ulivo, you’ve bewitched me again!” And he stretched out now an arm, now a leg, and twisted and turned; but it was all of no good, and the others stood below laughing at him.
“Oh, Padre Ulivo! I’ll leave you another hundred years, if you’ll only let me get down.”
“Very well; then you may come.”
So Death climbed down and went away.
✴✴✴✴✴
When the hundred years were passed, he came and stood outside the cottage.
“Padre Ulivo, Padre Ulivo, come out! Ishan’t come near your house this time. I don’t want to be tricked again.”
“Oh, no, I’m coming. Wait till I get my jacket.”
So he put on his coat and went with Death.
On the way they met the Devil.
“Ah, good morning, Padre Ulivo” (one can see they knew each other very well), “so you’re coming my way, are you?”
“To be sure I am. But let’s have a game at cards first.”
“By all means! What shall we play for?”
“For souls. A soul for every game.”
“Good! I’m not afraid. Nobody ever beat the Devil yet at cards.”
So they began, and Padre Ulivo won game after game.
The Devil got very angry and spit flames of fire from sheer rage, as he saw the crowd of souls collecting round Padre Ulivo.
“This will never do,” he said at last. “I shall have no fire left to warm myself at if I go on losing my fuel at this rate. Padre Ulivo, take your souls and be off. I have had enough of you.”
They left the Devil boiling over with fury, and went and knocked at the gate of Heaven.
“Who’s there?”
“Padre Ulivo.”
“I’ll go and ask if you may come in.” Then, after a little time: “Dominiddio saysyou may come in, if you’re alone; but you must not bring anyone else.”
“Go and tell Dominiddio that when he came to me I let him in with all his friends. He ought to do the same by me.”
The porter took the message, and then came and opened the gates.
“Dominiddio says you may all come in together.”
So they threw themselves down in the armchairs of Paradise, and enjoyed themselves for ever.
Surely a tale of this kind is an eloquent commentary on the mind of the people who have preserved it. The shrewd cunning, the frank materialism, the lavish generosity, so long as there is anything to be generous with (“since it’s there,” they will say as they offer or use the last of their store), are all strongly marked features among these peasants.
At the same time, the story itself suggests a curious feeling that we have to do with Jupiter and Mercury transformed in the crucible of Christian history and Catholic dogma. The transformation is an instructive one in many ways, and it would be interesting to know whether it has taken place in any other country besides Italy.